Archive for the ‘Queens Plaza’ Category
linger strangely
The fedora district of Long Island City.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Last week, one found himself wandering desperately through the Fedora District.
A term of my own invention, as it seems like the sort of spot built for and by fellows who routinely placed felt hats upon their heads when leaving the house. My sweaty desperation was brought on by certain bodily functions which were calling for, nay, demanding attention.
Simply put, I had to poop, drop a deuce, or extrude ex food.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
One of the big problems experienced all over the megalopolis is a lack of publicly available rest rooms.
For some reason, the credentialed urban planners of the world do not acknowledge human biology in their calculations, nor require accessible bathrooms from the real estate people in exchange for their tax breaks and $1 land deals.
This is why people piss on their green infrastructure, there’s no where else to go.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
I should have stopped at the diner on Jackson to take care of business, but didn’t have the money or time to spend on a cup of joe or similar item as a ransom for relief. Urgency commanded one to double time it back to Astoria and the comforts of those porcelain fixtures which we keep confined in a tile room. I, for one, urge the incoming Mayor’s transition team to consider the fact that humans will need to crap and pee occasionally.
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strange instruments
My neck hurts, I have to pee, and I think someone might be following me.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Disturbing indications, delivered to the brain via input from that subcutaneous network of cabled sensors which are referred to as the nervous system (by layman and medical professional alike) and embedded within the skinvelope, abound. Certain sections of the decaying bag of meat in which one is housed were never much good when they were brand new and unsullied, and after nearly half a century of active service these sections have grown worn and are in a degenerate state of repair. Everything hurts, and the atmospherics surrounding the coming of winter irritate, causing my skinvelope to feel quite itchy.
For too long has my brain looked down upon the meatbag below from the perspective of master and slave, and I fear that a Marxist inspired revolution may be afoot, within.
from wikipedia
Details of delusional parasitosis vary among sufferers, but it is most commonly described as involving perceived parasites crawling upon or burrowing into the skin, sometimes accompanied by an actual physical sensation (known as formication). Sufferers may injure themselves in attempts to be rid of the “parasites”. Some are able to induce the condition in others through suggestion, in which case the term folie à deux may be applicable.
Nearly any marking upon the skin, or small object or particle found on the person or his clothing, can be interpreted as evidence for the parasitic infestation, and sufferers commonly compulsively gather such “evidence” and then present it to medical professionals when seeking help. This presenting of “evidence” is known as “the matchbox sign” because the “evidence” is frequently presented in a small container, such as a matchbox.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Crawling about in the dark of night, scuttling to and fro across the concretized devastations, my normally steady gait has become altered of late. Heavy camera bag and too many miles causes one to stoop his shoulders with the left held noticeably lower than the right. My right arm sweeps back slightly (steadying a camera) while the left comes forward, and at the waist I’m bent slightly forward a bit (from offsetting the weight of the bag). Also, I seem to pull myself inexorably forward using my right leg a bit more than the left these days, so my scuttle has evolved into a bit more of a squirm, reminiscent of the calamitous gait expressed by Hollywood zombies. Just a couple of years ago, my movements were somewhat more fluid, but I suppose I just have to deal with the aches and pain and work through this seasonal malady called winter.
Can’t just bury my head in the sand, and pretend I don’t have eyes and ears, or notice a world which is all around me.
from wikipedia
Worms live in almost all parts of the world including marine, freshwater, and terrestrial habitats. Some worms living in the ground help to condition the soil (e.g., annelids, aschelminths). Many thrive as parasites of plants (e.g., aschelminths) and animals, including humans (e.g., platyhelminths, aschelminths). Several other worms may be free-living, or nonparasitic. There are worms that live in freshwater, seawater, and even on the seashore. Ecologically, worms form an important link in the food chains in virtually all the ecosystems of the world.
In the United States, the average population of worms per acre is 53,767.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Current interests, “mah research” as I refer to it comically, have been leading me inexorably towards the history of an area known to modernity as Queens Plaza and the Sunnyside Yards- large sections which hosted either coastal marsh, flood plain, or littoral zone well into the 19th century. It’s plainly fascinating that the slab of fill and concrete upon which perambulation, vehicular, and mass transit occurs occludes the ancient patterns of flowing water. Somewhere, perhaps as little as 25-50 feet below the somewhat modern cut and cover tunnels underlying the streets, still flow the ancestral streams known by the Dutch.
Could there be underground grottoes inhabited by the atavist extant of the ancestral waters of Dutch Kills, or the Sunswick Creek down there?
from wikipedia
Myriapoda is a subphylum of arthropods containing millipedes, centipedes, and others. The group contains over 13,000 species, all of which are terrestrial. Although their name suggests they have myriad (10,000) legs, myriapods range from having over 750 legs (Illacme plenipes) to having fewer than ten legs.
The fossil record of myriapods reaches back into the late Silurian, although molecular evidence suggests a diversification in the Cambrian Period, and Cambrian fossils exist which resemble myriapods. The oldest unequivocal myriapod fossil is of the millipede Pneumodesmus newmani, from the late Silurian (428 million years ago). P. newmani is also important as the earliest known terrestrial animal.
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no vision
The Great Machine.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Queensboro, mighty Queensboro. The steel infrastructure of the elevated subways is an add on, which “uglified” up Queens Plaza in a manner which never happened to Fulton Street or Flatbush Avenue. This is another archive shot, by the way. New stuff will resume next week, thanks are offered to you- lords and ladies- for indulging and allowing one such as myself the opportunity to take a breath.
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excitement and fatigue
In today’s post, what not to do on the Subway, a public service announcement.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
To start, I’d like to remind you that time well spent and the daily round for old Mitch normally includes trips to sewer plants, waste transfer stations, and hanging around a certain superfund site which defines the currently undefended border of Brooklyn and Queens. I can describe the different smells of residual sewage material versus that of putrescent garbage in some detail, and will often stop short and sniff at the air, proclaiming “there’s something dead nearby.” Saying that, the most disgusting thing I encounter on a daily basis is actually an electrified Petri dish we call the Subway.
from nytimes.com
The team identified no known human pathogens and found that about 5 percent of the microbial species (a fifth of those identifiable) probably came from human skin — our heels, heads and forearms, mostly.
“Every time you step down, you pressurize the air that’s in your shoe,” Dr. Pace said. “You stomp down, you squirt out a little warm air, carrying foot microbiology.” This so-called convective plume radiates from some 1.6 billion riders annually and disperses throughout the subway system.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
I’m sure that the system is cleaned as much as possible, and that the MTA folks do everything to the letter of the law. Theirs is a hopeless task, however, as the system is the focal point through which all of us must squeeze. We apes are a particularly disgusting lot, who often carry and consume foodstuffs down there, and riding along with us are the multitudinous pathogenic organisms which infect us. Urine, blood, and sputum adorn the platforms, and god itself only knows what might be festering in the rat blown darkness of the tunnels.
from nbcnews.com
Gerba found e-coli (a bacterium often responsible for food poisoning); MRSA (methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus, a staph infection that’s resistant to most first-line antibiotics); and fecal matter on handrails. Fecal matter is on 50 percent of all handrails (people, it’s time to seriously wash your hands after using the bathroom). It’s not uncommon for handrails to have flu, staph bacteria, and respiratory and cold viruses, as well. Previous research in England found that people are more likely to get a cold from handrails than any other public surfaces.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Sandals are, perhaps, the most illogical choice for footwear (IMHO) in the City of New York but I won’t go so far as to petition City Hall to ban them. My prejudice against this specie of shoe no doubt emanates from growing up in the glass strewn milieu of 1970’s Brooklyn, when smashing beer bottles against brick walls was all the rage. This fellow whom I noticed on the train recently, however, had apparently decided that even the open toed pseudo shoes were a bit too restraining for him. Folks, its bad enough we have to breathe the same air down there, exchanging our personal biomes via aerosol vectors, but… keep your damned shoes on when you’re riding the train. Bleh.
from myfoxny.com
Here are the numbers: in 2011, 46 track-cleaning positions were eliminated saving the MTA $3.9 million; 11 escalator cleaning positions were cut, saving $1 million; and 116 car cleaner positions got the ax, saving the agency $8.6 million.
carven into
Getting back home is what its all about.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
My travels routinely find a humble narrator in far flung corners of the megalopolis which are remote from the north western corner of Queens wherein one dwells. Whatever event has carried me to these impossibly distant locations, it is paramount in my mind that I need to get back home to Queens and Our Lady of the Pentacle and my little dog Zuzu. Often will I find myself, as above, on a Staten Island Ferry looking through the ridiculously long transit tunnel which will provide me with a solution to this problem.
They used to carry cars on these boats, y’know, now this section is just for bicycles.
from nytimes.com
Deckhands said Ms. Bayer, sitting at the wheel of the car at the head of a sleepy line of drivers, appeared to have dozed off as the ferry lumbered across the harbor, just as the sun was turning the sky into a pink and orange patchwork of clouds. But as the ferry approached the terminal on Staten Island and the crew lowered the black metal gate, the deckhands said, Ms. Bayer was apparently jolted awake. The car began rolling, but the John F. Kennedy was not yet in the dock.
”It took off like a rocket,” said Kevin Hennessey, a deckhand. ”It was like something out of the movies.”
The first mate, Mickey Mardikos, said the car screeched ”and she went flying through the gate.”
– photo by Mitch Waxman
With all the track work and repairs occurring on the weekends, it can be a real hassle getting to and from Queens. Ironically, I live not more than a mile from the transit hub which is Queens Plaza, but getting from Lower Manhattan to this spot on a saturday can often entail multiple transfers and “thinking on your feet.” Recently, it took me around a hour and forty five minutes to get from the Staten Island Ferry Whitehall terminal to Astoria, a distance I could have walked in around two and half hours.
Incidentally, the chronology quoted does not incorporate waiting for the train(s) to arrive, nor walking to and from the stations- it’s actual “on the train time.” Adding this time in makes taking the train anti competitive to just hoofing it. The closer you get to Queens, the more barriers and “gotchas” you hit.
from wikipedia
Queens Plaza is a plaza located on Queens Boulevard, between North and South Plaza streets, in Long Island City, Queens. The plaza is overlapped by an elevated railway transit (which was constructed in 1914), with the Queensboro Bridge starting on the western edge. It has a subway stop for the E M R trains at the Queens Plaza station below ground along the eastern edge, and the 7 <7> N Q trains at the Queensboro Plaza station above the west central part of the plaza on elevated tracks.
– photo by Mitch Waxman
Many have commented to me that I should just “accept the things I can’t control” and roll with it. It’s “nobody’s fault” and this necessary series of repairs are just a part of life in the big city.
I always respond, while ruminating on how much I’d rather be at home amongst the rolling hills of almond eyed Astoria, that moving around within Manhattan remains a cakewalk. It’s the connections with Queens that always seem to be problematic. Politicians offer that there is always the East River Ferry, which leaves you off at second street in LIC in the middle of nowhere at Hunters Point and runs on an hourly schedule during the weekend. They then say “Citi Bike” as if it means something.
May I offer that there is no such thing as a weekend in NYC anymore, and that anything which keeps me away from Our Lady of the Pentacle and my little dog ZuZu is sure to draw my ire?
Also, it is H.P. Lovecraft’s birthday today, he would have been 123 years old had he joined with Father Dagon and Mother Hydra in the cyclopean and many-columned street of Y’ha-nthlei, the subaqueous city of the Deep Ones.
from wikipedia
Homesickness frequently occurs when one travels and may be exacerbated by unfamiliar environments or foreign cultural contexts. Homesickness is especially common in youth. Young people may experience a sense of dread, helplessness, or separation anxiety on their first day of school, summer camp, or on a protracted summer vacation away from the family. Many first-year students at boarding schools or universities also experience homesickness. Some new members on military basic training and members on missions or deployments might also experience it.
Want to see something cool? Summer 2013 Walking Tours-
The Poison Cauldron of the Newtown Creek – Saturday, August 24, 2013
Newtown Creek walking tour with Mitch Waxman and Atlas Obscura, tickets now on sale.
The Newtown Pentacle 